


Matching Skates

by heloluv



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale and Crowley in Love (Good Omens), Aziraphale is a Good Kisser, But Only The Loving Kind, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Music, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley is also a Good Kisser, Festive Bickering, First Christmas Together, Fluff, Gift Fic, Good Snowmens Winter Gift Exchange, Ice Skating, Kissing, M/M, Post-Canon, Santa Baby is an Aphrodisiac, christmas markets, good for them !
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-18 03:15:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28611186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heloluv/pseuds/heloluv
Summary: Crowley and Aziraphale attempt a festive date. It doesn't go quite to plan, but both of them are happy with how it turns out.A Winter Gift Exchange Story for SuperGeek21. I hope your holiday season was lovely - and I hope you enjoy this Festive Present from me to you!TYSM as always to the wonderful sapphiclemon for their beta work!!
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 23
Collections: Good Snowmens Winter Gift Exchange





	Matching Skates

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Supergeek21](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Supergeek21/gifts).



Crowley swore to himself as he tottered out onto the ice, nimble humans whizzing past him as he struggled to stay upright. He staggered to the side of the rink and clung on for dear life, turning around and looking for Aziraphale, who had made it look easy when he’d stepped out onto the ice and skated off, gliding across the surface with angelic grace.

‘How on _Earth_ did he convince me that this was a good idE-’ Crowley’s grumbling was swiftly cut off as one of his skates raced out from beneath him; he just about caught the barrier and stopped himself from going arse first onto the frozen floor. It didn’t take him long at all to decide that this particular activity wasn’t for him: he had too much leg and not enough bodily control to be any sort of skater.

Aziraphale was a couple of laps in, chatting amicably about a well-aged red wine he had stored away in his back rooms, before he realised that he was talking to thin air. Turning about, he furrowed his brow in confusion. ‘Crowley?’ 

He was almost sent into a tailspin by a human youth who sped past him, and he muttered his discontent as he righted himself. If he cast a small miracle to encourage the offender to reconsider his reckless skating, that was nobody’s business but his own. Aziraphale set off on the ice again, searching for Crowley.

Over the years, Aziraphale had become rather fond of this pastime: it somehow felt in keeping with his angelic essence, skirting across the surface of a marbled, almost pearlescent sheet of ice. It was downright saintly, walking on water like this. Once he’d made a habit of partaking in ice skating for a good few winters, he’d gotten himself a pair of clean white skates with angel wings embroidered in sparkling gold thread on the outer ankle pads. Classy, sturdy, high quality. There was no way you’d catch him wetting his cashmere trousers on those uncomfortable plastic skates that were lent out at the rinks: he had _standards_. Coming back around to the entrance that led out onto the ice, he finally spotted his skating partner hanging onto the barrier for dear life, legs wobbling like jelly. Trying and failing to hide his amusement, Aziraphale coasted over to him with an irritating amount of ease, a smug smile on his face.

‘I thought you said you’d done this before.’

Crowley spoke through gritted teeth. ‘I _have_. I also said I’d rather sit through consecutive performances of all of Shakespeare’s gloomiest plays than do it again.’

‘Well, I can see why, you can’t be having much fun flapping against the railing like a fish out of water. Come on!’ Aziraphale held out a gloved hand, cocking his head. 

Crowley wondered how Aziraphale managed to stand with his usual upright posture despite being atop a set of blades. ‘I can’t!’ 

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. ‘Of course you can. Stop wiggling about, for starters. You need to get your balance.’

Crowley, with great effort, centred himself. He tried to ignore the tingling feeling of a tiny angelic miracle wrapping around his legs to give him a much needed hand.

‘When I first learnt how to do it,’ reminisced Aziraphale, ‘I started by going around the outside of the lake. Just getting used to the skates.’ At this, he looked down at Crowley’s feet and almost baulked at the monstrosities that Crowley had his skinny jeans tucked into. The standard issue skate. ‘Crowley, why on _Earth_ -’ he registered Crowley’s accomplished smirk, then. Aziraphale rolled his eyes. Trust the demon to wear the least functional skates humans had ever invented just to offend Aziraphale’s sensibilities when it came to fashion. 

‘Those simply will _not_ do if you are to be my skating partner. Is anyone looking?’ 

Crowley surveyed the people around them, then shook his head. Aziraphale clicked his fingers and Crowley’s feet sighed with relief as they sunk into a pair of plush, cushioned skates. He looked down: suave black leather, with pointed devil tails embroidered on the outer ankles in red silk thread. It was his turn to roll his eyes, but his heart somersaulted in his chest as he gazed at his and Aziraphale’s matching sets. 

‘You’re ridiculous.’ Is what he said. ‘ _I_ _adore you_.’ is what he meant.

Aziraphale smiled, almost wiggling with contentment as he looked down at their feet. ‘Charming!’ he proclaimed, clasping his hands together, eyes sparkling. He looked so full of love. 

Aziraphale could hardly contain himself at the simple sight of their matching winter sportswear. He found that whenever something like this happened, something that reminded him of _their side_ , he felt giddy. Not to mention what the sight of his partner draped over the railing with his hips cocked was doing to him. Crowley always looked _good_ , and Aziraphale revelled in the sight of him. Even when he was barely keeping himself on his feet, the demon was, in Aziraphale’s eyes, totally cool and effortlessly gorgeous. He was suddenly overcome with the need to be nearer to Crowley. After 6000 years of staying a safe distance away, they were in the embryonic stages of getting used to being able to touch one another, to share space without any fear or denial. It filled both of them with nerves, but the nerves occasionally spilt over into insatiable need. Their worries about being _caught_ were beginning to fade; in their place, a deep seated form of raw excitement was blooming within each of them. They were on the cusp of something: once they were fully past the residual anxiousness that sometimes came of a touch or a kiss, they almost _literally_ wouldn't be able to get enough of one another, and the two of them both knew it.

‘Those should help. The blades will be much better. Watch my feet.’ Aziraphale moved off a couple of yards, then turned back to Crowley. ‘Like that. You need to try and cut across the ice with the skates.’ He waited. Crowley didn’t budge. Aziraphale spoke again. ‘Well you at least need to move, or we’re going nowhere.’

Crowley rolled his eyes and began to drag himself along the barrier with his arms, his feet planted firmly on the ice.

‘Crowle-’

‘This is as good as you’re getting right now, Angel. Like it or lump it.’

Aziraphale huffed for a moment, before resigning himself. Then, for a while, he skated alongside Crowley as the demon hauled himself around the perimeter of the rink. After a lap, he was clearly over his current technique.

‘Crowley. Trust me. What is the worst that could possibly happen if you just take my hands?’

Pushing himself upright again, Crowley deadpanned: 

‘You drag me out there, I can’t keep up, we get separated, you skate off, I fall and break all of my bones, and a seven-year-old decapitates me with an ice skate.’

Aziraphale levelled a stern look at him. Well, the angel did have a compelling point. Of all the times that Crowley had been hand in hand with Aziraphale, he could confidently say every single one had been ultimately rather enjoyable. 

‘Fine. But if you get me discorporated-’

‘Just hold my bloody hand you daft snake.’

So Crowley did.

For a moment, it went well. But only for a moment.

It happened in slow-motion, Crowley leaning forward just a _little_ too much. Aziraphale realised what was happening half a second too late, his hazel eyes widening as he felt the tug of Crowley’s hand on his. Crowley felt the floor slip out from beneath him; he swirled around, legs flailing, and grabbed onto both of Aziraphale’s arms. Aziraphale tried in vain to steady him, but Crowley’s knees buckled and he took Aziraphale out with a sliding tackle, legs knocking the angel’s pristine skates out from beneath him. Crowley’s back hit the ice with an almighty crack and Aziraphale tumbled down, landing on top of him with a thud.

‘ _Crowley!_ ’ hissed Aziraphale, flushing beet red as he heard some humans laughing at them. Crowley tried his best to keep a straight face, but to no avail: he broke into a smile, letting out a laugh that was reminiscent of the one he’d let loose in Berkeley Square on their first free day together. When he saw the sheer joy on Crowley’s face, Aziraphale couldn’t help it. He started to laugh too, just a little giggle. It built until they were in hysterics, trying and failing to stand themselves up, each laughing more as the other slipped again, or accidentally dragged the other back down to the ground. 

Eventually, a human who was clearly quite an expert on the ice came and helped the two entities back onto their blades. 

Crowley, wiping tears of mirth from his face, allowed himself to be firmly shunted back to the outer rim of the ice rink by a now noticeably less-steady Aziraphale, who was still chuckling too. 

‘You’re an utter fiend!’ Whispered Aziraphale as the two of them clung to the railing, still off-balance from their fall. ‘Three times you pulled me back down! Three!’

Crowley pouted. ‘Come on, angel. I can’t help that I liked having you all over me like that.’ He smirked, knowing that Aziraphale got rather flustered whenever he flirted so obviously. 

Aziraphale batted his arm. ‘Do _not_ , Crowley. I can barely stay upright as it is right now!’

Crowley chuckled. ‘I’m sure we could get you standing upright in no time… I don’t think you need to worry about that.’ 

Aziraphale felt the heat rising to his cheeks and tried to glare at Crowley, but when the demon nudged his arm and waggled his eyebrows in faux suggestiveness, he couldn’t help but laugh. ‘You are such a tempter.’ He took a moment to look at Crowley, the fine jut of his jawline and the way he looked when he smiled, his cheeks rosy from the cold. ‘I must confess. I rather like it.’

Taking hold of Crowley, hooking an arm around his waist, he spoke softly. ‘Come on. Let’s go and have a look at the markets instead.’

Nodding fiercely, Crowley used a little touch of infernal magic to make himself lighter as Aziraphale set off, skating to the exit of the rink with Crowley held against his side as if they were dancing on ice. Soon enough, he was slipping back into his snakeskin boots and watching Aziraphale tie up his balmorals.

  
  


As soon as they stepped away from the arresting chill of the ice rink, Crowley’s senses were freed up and he began to bask in the intoxicating scents of the markets. Aziraphale walked at his usual leisurely pace, hands clasped behind his back. Though he’d never ask outright, Crowley was dearly missing the feeling of the angel’s warm hand in his own.

‘Should’ve brought my gloves’. He dropped the comment casually. Aziraphale turned immediately. 

‘Why? Are you cold? Are your hands cold? Give them to me.’

Though Crowley had expected Aziraphale to catch on eventually, he was pleasantly surprised by the immediacy of the angel’s fussy reaction. He raised an eyebrow and caught a fierce blush blooming on Aziraphale’s cheeks: then, Aziraphale looked down at his boot-tips and Crowley found himself looking at a crown of soft, blonde curls as Aziraphale stumbled over his words, suddenly shy.

‘Well, you’ll have yourself coming down with some human ailment, and… and that wouldn’t be any good for either of us!’

Crowley smiled. ‘No. Of course. That would be terrible. For both of us.’

‘Are you going to give me your hands or not?’

Still smirking, Crowley held out his cool palms and sighed softly as Aziraphale removed his gloves and began to warm them with his own. Aziraphale rubbed heat into Crowley’s skin, skilled fingertips grazing up slender wrists as the angel ground the heels of his own hands into the dips of Crowley’s one at a time. It felt wonderful. Eventually, Aziraphale went to move away, satisfied with his work: Crowley caught one of Aziraphale’s hands in his own and held on, taking in the angel’s look of surprise. 

‘You’re warm. I’m cold. Keep hold of me?’

Aziraphale made no clever comment, too flustered to think. Crowley appreciated that; he was still getting used to initiating these moments of gentle intimacy, the split second between him asking and Aziraphale saying yes, in which he felt more vulnerable than ever before. When the angel did say yes, it made that moment more than worthwhile. They carried on walking, and Crowley felt something funny happen inside his chest when he felt Aziraphale tentatively interlocking their fingers. 

* * *

They strolled, looking at the stalls and tasting fine wines. Crowley caught the tune of a familiar Christmas song and began to hum along: Aziraphale’s head swung around, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

‘Are you _humming_?’

Crowley raised an eyebrow. ‘Yes? You’ve heard me hum before, angel.’

‘Well, yes, but not to this rubbish!’

Shocked, Crowley almost stepped back. He allowed himself a false gasp and watched as Aziraphale rolled his eyes. ‘Angel! You don’t like Christmas music?’

He watched as Aziraphale’s head tilted back, lifting the upturned end of his nose a little higher into the air. Oh, how Crowley loved bringing out the snob in the angel. Aziraphale could be incredibly high and mighty when he got on one of his opinionated rants: it was phenomenally un-angelic and Crowley utterly adored it.

‘If this _tripe_ is what you’re considering Christmas music, then I most certainly do not. Commercialised rubbish, too much editing, no meaning whatsoever. How on Earth the humans went from _Carol of the Bells_ to this-’ Aziraphale was haughty, searching for the right word. ‘This-’ he gesticulated with his free hand: his eyes lit up with impish glee as he finally found a fitting insult. ‘This wishy-washy, nondescript, emotionally barren, lyrically sub-par _droning_ , I’ll never underst-’ Finally, his eyes met Crowley’s once more. The demon could barely contain his giggles as he watched Aziraphale’s jaw drop. ‘It was _you_! _You_ invented this utterly monstrous genre!’

Crowley laughed, then. His head dropped back: he could feel Aziraphale’s indignation rolling towards him in waves. He also noted that Aziraphale’s hold on his hand hadn’t loosened a single iota. ‘You caught me, angel!’

Rolling his eyes, Aziraphale held back a smirk. For a moment, he had been genuinely appalled: despite having objected to modern Christmas music on principle and as a result having heard almost none of it, he truly believed that he despised all of those overplayed songs. But as he watched Crowley laugh that mind-blowing, world-altering laugh once again, right where they were in the open, he found himself secretly rather glad of Crowley’s mischief. 

‘I should’ve known. Perverting the meaning of Christmas. It was rather in your job description.’ He levelled an unimpressed look at the demon, but it held no heat. Aziraphale was simply too fond of Crowley to try and hide it any longer.

‘Speaking of perverting Christmas...’ Crowley smirked as he heard the sound system warble out the opening notes of _Santa Baby_. Aziraphale, unfamiliar with the song, found himself blushing at the devilish look Crowley was giving him. ‘Don’t you know this one angel? Listen close.’

Aziraphale tried, but the bustle of the markets stopped him from hearing. He made a perplexed face as he strained to listen: suddenly, he found himself being tugged by his hand between wooden structures until the two of them stood in a secluded alcove behind some market stalls.

‘Listen now.’

Aziraphale did. 

This time, he couldn’t hide the flush of his skin as he felt waves of seduction rolling off Crowley, the sultry sound of the song ringing in his ears. ‘Crowley?’ He spoke slowly, unsure.

‘Yes, angel?’

‘Is she-’ Aziraphale paused. Surely not. Christmas was about goodwill, not about the things his clearly impure mind was conjuring up as he listened. Still: he couldn’t help but ask. ‘Is she _seducing_ Saint Nicholas?’ His eyes blew wide as Crowley nodded slowly, that mischievous grin still making Aziraphale’s heart thump. ‘Oh. Oh my.’

His pulse thrummed as Crowley edged closer, using a little miracle to send a whispered lyric straight into Aziraphale’s ear: it reverberated around the principality's whole corporation, ripples of tingling excitement flooding right to the ends of his extremities. 

_Been an angel all year…_

Crowley’s fingertips reached out and brushed against Aziraphale’s. As soon as the contact occurred, thousands of years worth of barely repressed instinct finally took over.

Aziraphale crowded Crowley back against the wooden slats of the nearest stall, crushing his lips against those of the demon. He gripped onto Crowley’s lapels and felt as a pair of hands scrabbled for purchase on his shoulders. Crowley welcomed the kiss, lips parting to allow space for Aziraphale’s curious tongue. The kiss was hot, hotter than anything Aziraphale had ever felt: he worked his lips against Crowleys with the determination of a man who has yearned for six millennia to taste the mouth of their beloved.

Melting against the wood, Crowley sighed into Aziraphale’s mouth. The kiss was so much better than he’d ever imagined: Aziraphale’s ferocity was unexpected and, as a result, unbearably attractive. He felt as the angel pushed and pulled a pair of soft, plush lips firmly against his own, working their mouths together with unmitigated vigour. Aziraphale’s mouth was _perfection_ , the smooth ridge of his teeth, the eager flick of his tongue, the hot damp of his kiss-swollen lips. Crowley felt totally, thoroughly _debauched_.

Aziraphale could hardly catch his breath, too concerned with his own need to dip back into Crowley’s mouth, feeling the way that plump lower lip pushed against his own. When he felt that he’d finally given Crowley enough of his teasing tongue, he pulled his lips away by mere millimetres, resting his forehead against Crowley's. He felt a thrill rush around his veins as he saw the demon panting softly.

‘Maybe,’ Aziraphale whispered, his breath ghosting between their dampened mouths. ‘Maybe there is _one_ modern Christmas song that I’ll allow.’

Crowley clenched his fists, bunching the shoulders of Aziraphale’s coat. ‘You’re a basta-’

His word was cut short as Aziraphale leant in, eyes half-lidded as he gazed at Crowley’s pinkened mouth: both of them looked _sinful,_ breathing hotly, two pairs of shoulders rising and falling as they each basked in being so close to the one they loved so much. Then, Crowley let out a minute gasp as he felt Aziraphale ever so softly clamp his teeth onto his lower lip and tug, biting playfully as he pulled away from Crowley. As the pull became a stretch, Aziraphale finally let go and shot Crowley a wink with one gorgeous, glimmering eye, a devastating smirk painted on his face.

‘ _Angel_ ,’ Crowley breathed: he’d never seen anything like it before. 

‘My dear boy. I believe it might be best if we continue our festive celebrations back at the bookshop. Don’t you agree?’

Crowley nodded, wordless. Aziraphale raised his hand: with one click, the two of them disappeared.

  
  
When they got back to the bookshop, Crowley was only minorly surprised to see an original pressing of _Santa Baby_ sitting by the gramophone, just waiting to be played.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for the lovely prompts SuperGeek21. Writing this little gift for you was so much fun - I hope you liked it. Happy New Year and all the best for 2021!


End file.
